1
I don't believe in a round earth. The horizon's
curve is a god-born crown.
The polar forces of faith & despair

rotate the world's weight
to keep this whirling disc in motion.

2
I have magnetic fingers.
I pull mineral from loam.
I call blood to pale cheeks.
I split seas like lips for plosive consonants.
I maneuver the metallic between your hips.

3
I heard
hope
was hourless,
all objects
outside time
ran on faith.
I heard
worship
was a genesis.

4
Sing your heartbreak.                    I want to visit the corners

you crawled to for silence

and solitude.                                 I want the skin you shed

praying for the mercy of friction.

Sing your shadow to me—

when it's filled.                When that man breaks you.